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This would be one of the longest Saturdays in my life.
8:00 A.M.
The day commenced with my amateur psychoanalysis the minute I opened my eyes.
Not sure why I bothered. Habit, mostly. My dreams are disappointingly dull.
Typically, my subconscious takes a handoff from my higher centers and does a remix of current events. Occasionally, the id crew throws in a sketchily scripted theatrical twist.
Obviously, I’d absorbed more than I’d realized from the previous weekend’s soccer broadcasts. No Freudian breakthrough there.
The actors weren’t phantoms from some traumatic childhood event or random adolescent experience. All were persons with whom I’d recently interacted. It was natural that the TCI cops and vics were on my mind. Musgrove leaving the field needed no explanation.
The only riddle was Ryan’s enigmatic comment about the goalie.
But enigmas exist no more in the age of Google. Grabbing my iPhone, I entered the phrase Ryan had used. Was linked to a glossary of soccer terms.
Decoy run: When a soccer player executes a run to draw attention away from the intended play.
I lay back against the pillows and thought about that. About the goalie’s neon green and yellow jersey. I’d recently encountered a similarly vertiginous garment. Where?
Holy moly!
I replayed Monday’s interview. My conversation from the previous day.
Suddenly, I wasen fuegoto talk to Monck.
10:00 A.M.
I was spooning a second round of grounds into the coffeemaker when my mobile rang.
“You found Cloke?” I guessed, too amped for a proper greeting.
“I did not find Cloke.”
Engine sounds told me Monck was already wheels to the pavement.
“But I did kick loose some curious facts.”
I ran tap water into the pot.
“When I checked Cloke’s dates in Provo against the dates the vics disappeared, only one coincided. Bonner.”
“So Cloke isn’t your guy.” Already I’d switched from “our” to “your.”
“Not likely.”
“Unless he has an accomplice.”
“Killing duos are rare.”
“But they do happen. Lake and Ng. Bernardo and Homolka. Lucas and Toole.”
“Bonnie and Clyde. Leopold and Loeb. I get it. Count me as still skeptical.”
I placed the pot on its coil and thumbed the on button.
“I rang Carmichael again,” Monck continued. “Demanded to know why a feeb was on my patch. As expected, I got another blow off. I pressed him about Cloke’s previous visits to Provo. Carmichael seemed surprised.”
